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"And so you've given up all hope of escaping, eh, Jack?" remarked Hogarth. 1. "Not so," replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. She remembered the doctor's warning that the real battle would begin when the patient recovered consciousness. To-night we leave for Marseilles.

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